The long corridor of the Mo family mansion was silent except for the soft echo of footsteps. The ornate carpet swallowed most of the sound.
Head Butler Yang walked ahead, a picture of refined discipline. Neatly dressed in a traditional black suit with white gloves, he moved with grace that comes only from years of service. He gestured politely as he spoke, his voice crisp, with a touch of pride when he mentioned the Mo family.
"The First Young Master, Mo Yichen, usually resides near Mo Corporations. He prefers his own space and travels frequently due to work. The Second and Third Young Masters live here, as do Master and Madam Mo. You'll likely meet them this week."
Ruyan stayed one step behind, keeping her posture composed. But the longer he spoke, the heavier her head began to feel.
Why do butlers talk so much? she wondered, pressing her fingers briefly to her temple.
"Elder Mo, the family patriarch," the butler continued, "usually stays at the ancestral estate. But for your wedding, he's come back. He holds much influence within the family, and his presence is considered auspicious."
She did not comment but merely nodded, her gaze drifting across the opulent hallway, the chandeliers, the hand-painted walls, and the antique vases placed with precision. It was all immaculate, coldly beautiful.
Finally, they reached the far end of the second floor. Butler Yang stopped and opened a grand mahogany door, its intricate carvings catching the light.
"Your room, Madam," he said, stepping aside.
She walked in quietly, without a trace of awe. The room was undoubtedly elegant, with subtle beige and ivory tones, soft lighting, and a serene ambiance, but nothing stirred in her.
A large window stretched across one wall, offering a view of the garden below where koi swam lazily in the pond and wind brushed through trees. A modest balcony curved around the side. The room wasn't showy, but it whispered of wealth in every corner.
Her eyes stopped on a vivid painting above the bed: crimson roses, blooming wildly on canvas. It was the only bright color in the room.
She paused.
There was a time she'd spent hours in front of a canvas, playing with brushes and hues. Her studio used to smell like sandalwood and fresh roses. Back when color had meant something.
Now, it was just a reminder of everything she'd lost.
"Was this painting always here?" she asked softly, her voice so quiet that the butler flinched slightly in surprise.
"Yes, Young Madam," he said. "It's always been part of this room."
She gave a small nod, hiding her disappointment. If it had been placed there specially for her, she would have asked for it to be removed. She couldn't bear to look at roses and remember.
"Your mother arranged your belongings here. Should you require anything..."
"No need," she cut in gently but firmly. "You may go."
He bowed slightly and stepped back toward the door. Just as he reached it, he turned again.
"Young Master Yichen lives in the adjacent room," he said, cautiously. "I believe he wants to give you time to adjust. Please don't misunderstand his intentions."
She gave him a cold, flat look that dismissed him more effectively than words ever could. He left.
She stood there for a moment, the silence wrapping around her like a second skin. The weight on her shoulders felt heavier now that she was alone. The soft luxury of the room offered no comfort.
A hot shower was the only indulgence she allowed herself. She stepped under the water, let it wash over her skin, trying to scrub off not just the day's fatigue, but weeks, months of silent weariness.
When she emerged, she wrapped herself in a thick white robe. Her porcelain skin glistened with droplets. She twisted her long, waist-length hair into a towel and sat at the vanity. The mirror reflected someone pale, quiet, and distant.
The wardrobe was opened, and every piece of clothing inside was white, with only a couple of grey dresses as an exception. It was suffocating in its monotony. But then again, white was the color of surrender; she had done plenty of that lately.
She selected a knitted long dress and slipped into it, covering herself from collarbone to ankle. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and reached for the medical kit. Pulling back the sleeve that had fallen low over her wrist, she carefully unwrapped the bandage. She tended to the wound quietly, her expression unreadable.
As she was packing up the medical kit, a sudden knock sounded. And before she could even respond, the door opened.
Mo Yichen walked in, leaning against the doorframe. His sharp eyes landed on her figure, freshly showered, dressed in flowing white, her long, damp hair trailing down her back. For a moment, he seemed thrown off. She looked... unreal. Almost too delicate for this world.
But he quickly masked his reaction with cold sarcasm.
"Disappointed?"
She met his gaze without flinching.
"You must be disappointed," he said, pushing away from the doorframe, his steps slow and deliberate as he entered the room. "What did you expect? That I'd fall for you? That this would become some fairytale?"
Her expression didn't flicker. Calm and Distant. Like he was just noise in the background.
He scoffed, eyes narrowing. "I warned you, this marriage is a transaction. Don't delude yourself into thinking it's anything more."
The silence that followed was deafening. Heavy with all the things left unsaid.
"I would appreciate it," she said finally, voice like glass..... cold and cutting, "if you can remember that too."
Precise. That was the word that shot through his mind. Not meek. Not defensive. Just... precise.
He tilted his head, sneering. "I hope you can keep up this little act. But if this is your pathetic way of playing hard to get, it won't work."
She didn't blink.
"You're not worth the effort," she replied, voice flat. Unapologetically Brutal.
His jaw clenched.
The words hit deeper than they should have. The billionaire CEO is not worth the attention of this....this nobody?
"You…" he started, voice low with fury.
But there was nothing else to say. She'd already cut deeper than any insult he could throw back.
"You've got a sharp tongue," he muttered, voice like steel. "Let's see how long that composure lasts once you're living under this roof." Still, she didn't respond. He clenched his jaw. Her silence.....it wasn't submissive. It was deliberate. Strategic. Like she didn't consider him worth the energy.
Mo Yichen had dealt with women who screamed, who cried, who clung.
But this?
This unnerved him.
"I said, keep pretending none of these matters to you," he snapped, louder now, needing a reaction, any reaction.
Nothing.
She moved to the balcony doors and unlatched them quietly, as if he'd already become irrelevant. The night breeze lifted a strand of her hair, and in the pale light, she looked untouched. Untouchable.
He hated that.
He hated her poise. Her indifference. Her maddening calm.
Who does she think she is?
"I don't like games," he said icily, one last time.
Then turned to leave.
As his hand touched the doorknob, he paused, a slow, dark smirk curling on his lips.
Fine.
If she wanted to act above it all......so cold, so untouchable......he'd make it his mission to shatter that mask. To crack the shell, she hid behind.
Let her believe she is in control.
Because sooner or later, Xia Ruyan will break.
And he will be the one to do it.